(֊⎚-⎚)

Xavier

(Fake) Maknae, Vocal, Ace.

1/3rd of the Maknae line, the introverted, big-eater, bunny prince of the group. Got scouted when he was still in highschool and never outgrew the bowl-cut.

Gorgeous vocals, soft ballad like songs suite him the most. The stylists like to dress him in a innocent, flower-boy concept, but don't be fooled. He is the most savage of the lot, has the best comebacks, and is a little menace. Bullies his hyungs relentlessly despite being the youngest. Popular for his freakish strength, especially because he shows none of that on his cute bunny face. So rest assured he thrashes the other members on their game show.

Has whole compilations of spacing tf out during talk shows. One time was forced to give the thankyou speech, panicked and started talking in some alien tongue until Zayne took the microphone away.

Unfortunately gets dragged by the netizens for his resting bitch face all the time. Was a host on Running Man for a while and went viral for eating spoonful's of wasabi casually. One time fell asleep on Vlive.

SpaceBunny11: How can he have the aegyo of a 6 year old but the sex appeal of a stripper? PrinceXavi: I- Did he just fall asleep on live? How do we wake him uppp?? helpppp??? --- BreakmeInHalf: He's meditating guys. -----PrinceXavi: Girl He's died.

Zayne

Leader, Vocal, Lead Dancer

The reticent, somewhat serious, ideal leader. He has that mature, intelligent charm to him. Well-composed, dad of the group- one half of the snowcrow parent ship. Has four very chaotic children that wear him out.

Uses dry humour perfectly, the internet thinks he's the funniest member, Xavior def learned his savagery from this man. Regardless of who your bias is, Zayne is everyone's soft spot. And if you dare try and cancel him, its personal. You won't try getting on twitter again.

Big Idol-actor energy. Super reliable,- just don't ever give him tequila- then he's twerking all night. The group's Chuseok live was taken off streaming platforms for a reason. And the company had to stop sending him on drinking shows.

Went viral for his Elsa costume for the halloween Special Stage! (Lost the challenge on their reality show and this was his punishment). Also that one time when Idol room made him dance to Up and Down by EXID, he had his face buried in his hands the entire time, but he knew that choreography down pat.

OT5Stan: His hair is gonna be completely white by the next comeback. Zayne'sleftTiddy: A man that patient??? Mother I have found your Son-in-Law. SnowWife^^: He looks like his mother will pay me to stay away from her son. @SnowWife^^ Zayne himself would pay you to stay away from him. LADS_FAN19: PLEASE STREAM DIVINER'S STILLNESS ON....read more

Rafayel

Visual of the group. Definitely the centre.

Has insane Kim SeokJin energy. DO YOU SEE THE PICTURE? He's the perfect idol. Made it to idol life through a survival show, his cover of Whistle by Blackpink got millions of views. Won in a landslide and has been a fan favourite since before debut.

There's some people just made for the idol life and its Rafayel. Makes it to the top of 100 most handsome faces every year. King of expressions on stage. His banter on talk shows makes him the best reality guest, once fought with everyone on Knowing Bros, including his own members.

Poor child is the it girl, so he gets called a 'pick me' for eating pizza and is cancelled at least 3 times a day. Unbothered, Self confident qween, #NETIZENS_APOLOGISE_TO_RAFAYEL is trending and he's just spamming his own selcas - captioned

'ㅋㅋㅋI blinded myself with my own radiance'

RafayelIndonesiaFanclub: I come here everyday. Fishy22: He winked and i feel to my knees in the middle of Walmart. Janieytt: WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE? ITS A MAN WINKING AND IT HAS 6 MILLION VIEWS? WHO EVEN IS HE? WHERE DID HE COME FROM? HOW DOES HE LIKE HIS EGGS IN THE MORNING?

Sylus

Vocal- oldest- main dancer-

Was street casted and almost got into an altercation with the company scout because he though he was getting chased.

Everyone thought he was the Rapper until he started speaking. He's the kind that has Mnet and KBS clutching their pearls. No seriously, they had a 'men can only show one nipple' rule- (This is real factual information btw) they can't handle this man. Has gotten banned for no particular reason, multiple times. Only thing he is really scared of is Zayne.

-Most popular for his voice- sent the netizens in disarray when they first heard him. Doesn't get the most lines, but the producers use his baritone perfectly throughout the song. Has a surprising amount of male fans. Is popular with netizens for his bulk. Part of the big tiddy gang, right there with Wonho and BM from Kard. His fancams look like Magic Mike performances. Never make him read thirst tweets on BuzzfeedCeleb!

-Makes fans listen to classical music on his Vlives. Until they eventually ruin it for him (Remember when Army's told V that Jazz sounds like a mosquito farting?? yes exactly that). Sylus has since then disabled Vlive comments.

Softstan33:He has such a sweet way with words ^^ Sylus you're the best! Mephi'smother: I want him to tie me up like a thanksgiving Turkey an...[read more]. Sylus'sMalewife: RAW RAW RAWWWW RAWWWWWWWWWWWW [Comment has been removed for violating community guidelines]

Caleb

Rapper- lead Dancer- Mood maker.

Has that boy next door - quirky image. Just imagine him rapping in his airy, playful tone- I will transcend. Has a cool, hip-hop vibe, that would fit in perfectly with StrayKids or Seventeen.

Likes to prank the other members backstage- makes for most of their behind the camera content. Responsible for making their encore-stages fun, chases Rafayel around with confetti and makes Sylus rap his verse. Is a "passionate" dancer on stage- almost ripped Zayne's shirt during a performance- Caleb swears it was an accident but do we believe him?

Another time, he arranged water bottles around a napping Xavier and recorded it like some ritual sacrifice. Gets insanely competitive with Xavier on game shows- the one cooking Challenge episode they did was a nightmare.

Was on Real Men for 3 episodes and fans made military wife content edits to last a lifetime. For some reason the fandom is convinced that he's actually married and has 3 secret kids. -Also popular for his, 'work out with me' mini- vlogs.

karasuno was in the middle of one of those nail-biting matches where everyone was sweaty, screaming, and on the verge of either greatness or embarrassment. hinata was bouncing around like a hyperactive pogo stick, kageyama was yelling "hinata, don’t miss!!" every three seconds, tanaka and noya were terrifying the crowd with their war cries, and daichi was desperately trying to herd them all like chickens.

and then there was tsukishima.

stoic. blank-faced. sarcastic whenever he opened his mouth. the guy blocked like a wall but celebrated like he’d rather be doing taxes.

so when a sweet voice suddenly rang out from the stands—

“YOU’RE AMAZING, KEI! GO, BABY!!”

—every single head in the gym snapped toward it.

a cute, beaming girl was standing up, hands cupped around her mouth, cheering loud and proud.

kei. baby.

you could practically feel the team’s collective soul leave their bodies.

noya dropped his water bottle. tanaka choked on air. hinata blinked like he’d just short-circuited. kageyama muttered, “baby???” like the word was foreign currency.

and the most shocking part?

tsukishima looked.

not only did he look—he lifted his hand, caught the flying kiss you threw at him, and pressed it against his chest.

expression blank, sure. but his ears? pink.

“no way,” noya gasped. “no freaking way. is he—IS HE BLUSHING???”

“is someone ELSE inside tsukishima’s body?” tanaka demanded. “who are you and what have you done with the real four-eyes??”

“possessed,” kageyama said grimly. “absolutely possessed.”

yamaguchi, who’d been smiling knowingly the whole time, just shrugged. “that’s (y/n)-chan. tsukki’s girlfriend.”

the gym went silent again.

then chaos.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

karasuno pulled off a win (barely—thank hinata’s crazy quicks and tsukishima’s monster blocks). the crowd cheered, the whistle blew, and the boys were buzzing.

except none of them were buzzing as much as when you hopped down from the stands.

“kei!!” you called, running across the court.

tsukishima didn’t flinch. didn’t roll his eyes. didn’t scowl.

he just stood there—arms open.

waiting.

and when you barreled into him, laughing, he caught you easily, holding you like it was routine.

routine.

karasuno nearly combusted.

“HE’S—HE’S LETTING HER HUG HIM,” tanaka screeched.

“NOT EVEN LETTING,” noya corrected, “HE’S HUGGING HER BACK!!”

“i think i’m gonna faint,” hinata muttered—and promptly did, collapsing like a sack of rice.

kageyama shook him like a soda can. “hinata!! don’t die now!!”

daichi sighed into his towel. suga clutched his chest dramatically. asahi whispered, “it’s… it’s beautiful,” like he was witnessing a rare miracle.

“guys,” you said cheerfully, smiling at the stunned team, “hi! i’m (y/n). kei’s girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND???” the team chorused, voices cracking like glass.

“we’ve been dating since middle school,” tsukishima said casually, as if announcing what he had for lunch.

hinata, still limp in kageyama’s arms, twitched.

tanaka pointed an accusatory finger. “you’ve been HIDING A GIRLFRIEND?? since MIDDLE SCHOOL??”

“and not just ANY girlfriend,” noya shrieked. “a CUTE ONE??”

“how,” kageyama said flatly, dropping hinata. “did YOU pull that off.”

“maybe she likes dinosaurs,” hinata croaked weakly from the floor.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

flashback

middle school. practice was over. tsukishima was standing with his arms crossed, scowling as always, and you were chatting happily beside him.

“so… my parents are thinking i might not go to karasuno,” you said. “i don’t know where i’ll end up.”

you expected him to grunt, or say “who cares,” or something equally tsukishima-ish.

instead, he snapped.

“then go out with me.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i said, go out with me,” he growled, cheeks red, voice sharp like he was mad at himself. “before you run off to another school. idiot.”

it was the most tsukishima way to confess: awkward, blunt, and vaguely insulting.

and you?

you laughed. “sure, kei.”

tsukishima didn’t recover for weeks.

flashback ends

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

after the game, the team decided to hit up their usual ramen spot. you sat comfortably next to tsukishima, who was pretending to be unfazed while internally panicking.

“alright, tsukishima,” tanaka said, slamming his chopsticks on the table. “spill it. HOW did you bag someone like her??”

“yeah!!” noya added. “you’re like… tall, salty french fry with glasses as sea salt and everything NOT nice. and she’s like cotton candy dipped in sunshine with EVERYTHING nice. it doesn’t make sense!!”

hinata leaned across the table. “are you paying her??”

“idiot, why would i?” tsukishima muttered, rolling his eyes.

“blackmail??” kageyama asked seriously.

“NO,” you giggled. “he’s actually really sweet.”

the table went silent.

then erupted.

“LIAR!!” noya pointed dramatically.

“HE DOESN’T HAVE A SWEET CELL IN HIS BODY!!” tanaka yelled.

“tsukki’s sweet to me,” you said with a little shrug. “he walks me home, brings me snacks, even helped me study—”

“STUDY??” hinata gasped. “he won’t even help ME learn english properly!!”

“that’s because you’re hopeless,” tsukishima shot back.

the team groaned collectively.

suga sipped his tea calmly. “you know what? i’m happy for you two.”

“me too,” daichi said, though his face screamed why do i feel like a parent who just found out my kid has been married for years without telling me.

“this is so unfair,” noya muttered. “all this time i thought tsukishima was just a tall salty cactus… but he’s been a tall cactus in LOVE.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

for the next week, the team could not let it go.

during practice—

“hey tsukishima, does your girlfriend call you ‘my sweet baby kei’?” noya yelled mid-drill. she does.

“does she hold your hand??” tanaka followed.

“when you hug, do you bend down??” hinata asked curiously.

tsukishima shoved his glasses up, scowling. “do you idiots want me to block your spikes into your faces?”

“ooooh, scary!!” tanaka teased. “mr. boyfriend’s blushing again!”

“he’s not blushing,” noya said. “that’s just the love glowing off him.”

yamaguchi laughed until he cried.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

after another win, the team watched as you ran to tsukishima again, leaping into his arms.

he caught you effortlessly, expression neutral, ears flaming red.

the team groaned, cheered, laughed, and screamed.

because no matter how sarcastic, cold, or aloof tsukishima acted with them, there was no denying the truth anymore:

tsukishima kei was whipped.

completely, utterly whipped.

and honestly?

they loved it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a/n: venting on my posts is so cool, knowing people are bound to read them 😈

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

“Kei! Yn-chan should stay for dinner!” his mom called from below.

“She hears you,” Tsukishima replied over his shoulder, too tired to make it sound anything but clipped.

Yn answered sweetly anyway, her voice echoing back downstairs as Tsukishima opened his bedroom door. He let go of her to dump his bag beside the desk, kicked off his shoes, and dropped face-first onto the bed with a soft grunt.

Everything hurt. Legs, back, brain. Volleyball matches this deep into the season were nothing short of brutal. But even now, he could feel the tug in his chest more than anywhere else—because yn was still by the door, and he wasn’t spending time with her.

It had been nearly two months since they’d last properly hung out. They’d both been swallowed up by their clubs and the looming pressure of college entrance exams, barely managing hallway greetings and late-night texts. That’s why, when she called him last week to say she was coming to his game, he wasted no time asking her out for a movie date afterward.

He cracked an eye open, the sound of her voice still lingering as she spoke to his mother. The golden light from the setting sun caught in her hair, painting her skin in this warm, glowing filter that made his already-tired heart squeeze.

She looked right at home standing in his doorway. And she was still kind enough to reply properly, to make his mom smile. He couldn’t stand how much he liked that.

“Close the door,” he mumbled into the sheets. “She’ll start asking about the game and I’ll lose you for an hour.”

Yn chuckled, finally closing the door before padding over to his bed. “It’s because you never fill her in.” The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat beside him and lightly poked his cheek. “You should be careful, you know. Soon, I’ll be the favorite child.”

“Pretty sure she already likes you more than me and Nii-chan,” Tsukishima sighed. His hand caught hers—intending to push it away, maybe—but instead, he pulled it gently to his cheek.

“Ooh, imagine if she adopts me,” yn teased, eyes sparkling. “I’d be your sister.”

Tsukishima jolted upright, pinching her waist with a scowl. “Don’t even joke about that. It’s gross.”

She shrieked with laughter, swatting at him as his hand chased her across the bed, his exhaustion forgotten for just a moment. She was always infuriating with her dumb jokes.

But it was nice to hear them again instead of just reading them through texts.

Eventually, they both collapsed into the mattress, the energy slowly draining out of their laughter, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Yn laid beside him, their shoulders just barely touching, her hand still in his.

A lazy feeling settled in, blending nicely with the soft hum of life downstairs and the distant clatter of kitchenware. Tsukishima let his eyes fall shut again.

They should be watching something right now.

“Give me five minutes,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. “I’ll set up my laptop.”

He felt her shift beside him. “Are you sure?” she asked softly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not,” he replied flatly, eyes still closed.

“Kei.”

There was a different note in her voice this time. Not teasing. Concerned.

He opened one eye just enough to see her watching him. Her brows creased, lips pressed together in a way that made him look away almost instantly.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“You don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she said gently. “I came to see you. We can just hang out. Or nap if you want.”

He hated how his heart fluttered at that.

Tsukishima rolled onto his back with a groan, one arm flopping over his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to come all the way here so I could nap.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she pressed on. “I’d just... rather you rest if you need to.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, very quietly, he mumbled, “I missed you.”

He felt her fingers twitch against his, a tiny, startled reflex.

Tsukishima kept his arm over his eyes, his voice low and gruff. “So, no. I’m not gonna fall asleep. I want to spend time with you.”

The honesty hung between them, vulnerable and heavy in the sinking golden light. She leaned over and gently tugged his arm down until he was looking at her.

“I missed you too.”

Her eyes softened, full of quiet affection. She withdrew her hand from his and reached up, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead, fingertips featherlight.

“But I still don’t want you pushing yourself. There’s always next time, you know? You don’t have to cram all your energy into one night just for me.”

Tsukishima blinked down at her, her touch loosening the knot in his shoulders. But even that comfort turned on him, stirring the fears he’d worked so hard to keep quiet.

“That’s the thing,” he muttered, voice low. “I’m not so sure there is always a next time.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then sat up slowly, not looking at her right away. His hands were folded in his lap, fingers fidgeting like they were trying to twist themselves.

“I know we said we’d make time, but we’re going to different colleges. You’ll have your own schedule. New people. New routines. And so will I.” His jaw tightened. “But even before that’s started, it already feels like I barely see you.”

Yn listened quietly, not interrupting, her eyes steady on him.

“And it’s not like I think we’ll fall apart or something,” he added quickly. “It’s just…” He trailed off again, searching for the right word to shape the fear he didn’t usually let himself acknowledge. “It’s stupid. I just—I don’t want to look back and realize I wasted the time we do have.”

There was a long pause. Then, he muttered under his breath, “Sorry. I’m not good at saying this crap.”

When he finally met her gaze again, yn’s face lit up with a tender, knowing smile.

“It’s not stupid,” she said, pushing herself to sit upright. “And it’s not crap.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem to expect him to. She went on, her voice dropping a little.

“I think about it too,” she admitted. “The distance. The changes. How fast everything is moving. There’ll be days when we’re too busy or too tired to call. Maybe even weeks.”

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “But Kei… I know us. I know that no matter how much time passes, when we do talk again, it’ll still be…”

Her hand found his again, fingers sliding between his, squeezing them. She paused, a small laugh slipping out.

“... you. Probably still messing up my hair instead of saying hi. Fixing the strap of my bag without saying anything. Pinching me when I make jokes, like earlier—ow, by the way.”

That earned a snort from Tsukishima.

“And me? Still making bad jokes on purpose. ‘Accidentally’ stepping on your shoes when you call me short. Pulling your hoodie strings just to annoy you. Trying to act all cute just to hear you say I am.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but she didn’t let him deflect.

“That’s what I mean. It’s never ‘Oh, how have you been?’ with us. We don’t have to start over every time. We just… click back into place. Time doesn’t erase that. Distance doesn’t either.”

When Tsukishima finally spoke, his voice was smaller than usual. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Not confident,” she corrected. “I just know what we have. I trust it.”

He was quiet, his fingers tightening slightly around hers.

“You trust it?” he repeated, like he was trying to taste the weight of that.

“I trust you,” she said, pulling back to look at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You care more than you let on. And I know that if something matters to you, you don’t let go easily. And neither do I.”

That stopped him.

Because for the first time, all those uneasy thoughts didn’t sound like warnings. They just sounded like noise. And maybe this was the answer that he had been missing.

They didn’t have to see each other all the time to still matter to the other. It was never about being together. It was always about what they were to each other.

“… You're really annoying when you’re right,” he muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Yn grinned, pretending to grab her phone. “Wait! Say that again. I need to record this.”

He huffed a laugh, finally leaning back into the pillows again. The fatigue crept in quicker this time now that the tight coil in his chest had finally loosened.

He looked over at her, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think I can stay awake for a movie.”

She chuckled. “I know.” 

Her fingers brushed against his cheeks as she took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand.

He yawned before he could reply, the last of his resistance unraveling. As he closed his eyes, he tugged her closer, wordlessly urging her to stay beside him.

“I’ll probably be out for a while,” he murmured.

“Mhm.”

“Wake me up… when it’s time for you to go. Okay?”

“Sure,” she whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

And she would. But not until long after he drifted off, his breathing even, the golden light of evening slipping quietly into dusk.

Yn padded down the stairs quietly, the soft creak of the steps barely registering beneath the distant clatter of pans and the gentle bubbling of something simmering in the kitchen. The house smelled like miso and something savory being stir-fried, and her stomach gave a quiet, traitorous growl.

She rubbed her eyes and wandered in, still barefoot and slightly dazed from the warmth of Tsukishima’s room.

“Ah, yn-chan,” his mother greeted with a smile, glancing over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove. “Kei knocked out?”

Yn smiled softly, stepping into the kitchen. “Like a light. He didn’t even fight it this time.”

His mom chuckled and waved her over. “I’m making yasai itame for dinner. Want a taste?”

“Maybe later. I’m just thirsty.” Yn went to grab herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.

They stood like that for a moment. Just two women in soft silence, bound by mutual affection for the tall, tired boy sleeping upstairs.

Then his mother gave her a knowing look. “You’re still looking at places?”

Yn paused with the glass halfway to her lips, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. A few more popped up this week, actually.”

His mom hummed thoughtfully, gently stirring the pot in front of her. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I am.” Yn’s voice was firm, determined. “I know it’s not a perfect solution, and there’s no guarantee everything will go the way we want it to. But…” She bit her lip. “If I can find a place somewhere in between our schools—close enough for the both of us without losing half a day commuting—I think it’ll help.”

His mom smiled without turning. “You know, I thought you were just being polite the first time you brought it up. But then you started asking about train lines and furniture stores.”

Yn laughed quietly. “I just… I don’t want us to drift apart.”

The honesty of it made her chest tighten. She hadn’t said it out loud before. Not like this.

“Kei worries about it too,” yn continued. “But I didn’t want to tell him just yet. Not until we’re both past our entrance exams. He’s already stressed. If I add more to his plate now…”

“You’re protecting him,” his mom said simply, finally turning to face her.

“I guess I am.”

There was a pause, and then the woman’s expression softened into something fond and just a little proud.

“He’s lucky, you know,” she said. “He doesn’t say it much—not in words—but Kei… he’s never brought a girl home like this. Never looked at someone the way he looks at you.”

Yn ducked her head, flustered. “I’m lucky too,” she murmured. “It’s hard sometimes, but… he’s worth it.”

“Mhm. Just remember—love’s important, but life’s more complicated than that,” his mom said. “You’re both young, and… well, I won’t embarrass you with the talk—”

Yn nearly dropped the glass, coughing as she choked on her own saliva.

“—but just promise me you’ll be smart. About everything.” Her gaze was firm, but not unkind. “College is hard enough without extra surprises. And if there’s ever a question you’re too shy to ask him, or your parents or even me… just remember, there’re clinics near campus that have discreet pamphlets.” A pause. “And condoms.”

Yn turned away, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “Oh my god…”

“Motherly duty fulfilled,” she said dryly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Now, I’ll just have to give Kei my version of the talk when you finally tell him.” 

Then she reached over, patting yn’s hand. “But if you ever need help figuring out the other stuff—laundry, cooking, cleaning—my door’s always open, yn. And if Kei ever slacks off, text me. I’ll guilt trip him for you.”

Yn laughed, the tension dissolving into something lighter. She gave her hand a squeeze in return.

“Thanks, Tsukishima-san.”

“Just call me Mom already,” she said, grinning.

Yn flushed. “That still feels too… early.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing gently in the small kitchen.

As yn finished her water and rinsed out the glass, she glanced back toward the stairs. She already missed being next to him, even if he was fast asleep.

She wasn’t sure what the future would look like, not exactly. But knowing that Kei would be in it, and that he cared enough to worry about it just like she did, made it feel a lot less daunting.

there are certain universal truths in life.

like gravity pulling things down, taxes stealing your paycheck, and wakatoshi ushijima refusing to exist without you.

not in the “aww, i love her so much i can’t live without her” way, but in the “if y/n takes two steps too far away from me, my lungs file for divorce and my ribcage forgets how to do basic mechanics” way.

and the funniest part? he’s dead serious about it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the inter-high preliminaries are already a circus. cameras everywhere, sweaty players bowing, a random guy named berto giving away y/n merch (with ushijima threatening him, so he gave it all to him with a sigh), coaches muttering strategies under their breath like hexes, and ushijima looming like a tree trunk in the middle of it all. reporters circle around like hungry pigeons, waving microphones, desperate to get words out of the legendary ace.

and he answers them in that steady, unshaken voice of his. but today—oh, today—he decides to go off script.

“ushijima, what motivates you to play at your best during such high-pressure matches?”

the question is simple. the answer should be “my team” or “my love for volleyball.” something safe. diplomatic. boring.

but ushijima, standing like a statue with his broad shoulders and intense stare, simply says:

“y/n. she is the reason i breathe.”

and the reporters… lose it.

pens scratching furiously, eyebrows shooting up, one guy actually snorts and chokes on his bottled water. metaphor. they think it’s metaphor. dramatic and poetic, fine. every athlete has their quirks.

except ushijima tilts his head slightly, like they didn’t quite comprehend his perfectly factual statement, and adds:

“no, literally. without y/n, i would not inhale.”

dead. silence.

one poor journalist lowers his recorder, looking at ushijima like he just announced he eats raw bricks for breakfast. another whispers, “is he… serious?”

yes. yes, he is.

meanwhile, you’re standing off to the side, holding his water bottle like a confused stage mom. and the moment his eyes find yours, he visibly relaxes, shoulders unclenching, chest expanding like—wait. oh.

oh my god, he wasn’t kidding.

the ace of shiratorizawa volleyball team, international-level terror to every opposing team, apparently needs you to breathe like you’re an organic oxygen tank.

“y/n,” he says, voice dipping into that gentle register he saves only for you, “could you come closer?”

you shuffle two steps forward, and like magic, he inhales. chest rising like someone just restarted his biological software.

one reporter actually drops their notepad.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

it becomes the headline.

SHIRATORIZAWA ACE RELIES ON GIRLFRIEND TO BREATHE

IS THIS ROMANCE OR RESPIRATORY FAILURE?

DOES HE NEED HER TO WIN? TO EXIST? TO EAT?

and ushijima, calmly watching the frenzy, just nods to every ridiculous question because none of it is ridiculous to him.

they ask if you’re his muse. he says, “she is my circulatory system.”

they ask if this is exaggeration. he says, “if she leaves, my body shuts down.”

they ask if this is healthy. he says, “i am perfectly healthy, because she is here.”

you’ve never wanted to evaporate faster in your life.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

off-court, he’s somehow worse.

the team knows. they’ve always known. semi mutters “here we go again” every time ushijima scans the bleachers like a hawk searching for you. goshiki, bless his dramatic little heart, thinks it’s “so romantic, captain!” tendō just laughs himself half-dead watching you hand ushijima his water bottle mid-practice because the man will not sip it unless it’s from your hand.

“bro,” tendō says once, hanging upside down from the bench like an unhelpful bat, “you’re basically his pacemaker.”

ushijima nods. dead serious. “yes. exactly.”

“that’s not—ushijima, no, i’m not—”

ushijima just keeps nodding, “if your heart stops, mine does too.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT A PACEMAKER—”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the problem is, he’s not even dramatic about it. it’s all delivered in his usual calm, steady tone, like he’s stating scientific fact.

he’ll drop things like:

“i will not exhale until you smile.”

“my lungs only expand when you are near.”

“your voice regulates my diaphragm.”

and you don’t know whether to faint from the sheer intensity or call a doctor because the boy sounds like a medical anomaly.

once, you tried to test it. you said, “okay, toshi, let’s see if you can last two minutes without me.”

you stepped out of the gym.

when you came back after sixty seconds, semi was fanning ushijima with a clipboard, goshiki was yelling “CAPTAIN, BREATHE, PLEASE,” and tendō was on the floor wheezing from laughter.

ushijima? he was just standing there. calm. motionless. purple in the face. like a tree patiently waiting for water.

“i told you,” he said after inhaling the second you touched his sleeve again, “i cannot breathe without you.”

you wanted to hit him with a volleyball. lovingly.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

but the wildest part? it’s… kind of sweet. in a terrifying, borderline-clinical way.

you’ve never doubted his devotion—ushijima’s not the type to half-love anything. he loves fully, steadily, like roots growing deep into the earth. and while other boys say cheesy things they don’t mean, he says horrifyingly unhinged things he absolutely does mean.

like how he once compared your presence to “the correct alignment of my spinal cord.”

or how he told his mom, with complete seriousness, “y/n keeps my atoms together.”

or that time he whispered, against your hair after a win, “without you, i would collapse into dust.”

dust. he said dust.

and yet, when he hugs you after those matches, burying his face into your neck like he’s refilling his lungs, you believe him.

because ushijima doesn’t do metaphors. he only does truth. and his truth is you.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the reporters never fully recover. neither do the opposing teams. imagine trying to serve against a guy who only functions because his girlfriend is clapping in the stands like a glorified air pump.

he smashes a spike into the court, deadpan expression intact, then glances at you and inhales like a man reborn.

and honestly? you kind of like being his oxygen.

sure, it’s unhinged. sure, it’s weird. sure, it means you can never, ever leave his side unless you want shiratorizawa’s star player to keel over like an unplugged toaster.

but at the end of the day, when he leans down after another victory, presses his forehead to yours, and breathes—really breathes—like it’s the first clean air he’s ever tasted, you can’t help but think:

maybe there are worse things to be than wakatoshi ushijima’s lungs. yeah, like being real.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: i might wear my aoba johsai shirt tomorrow 😛 (it’s pretty subtle since it gets covered by my long hair) also! get this, my ‘friend’ was mocking me about sitting alone cs we’re classmates & she sits with other people. ?? i chose to sit at the very far back to be alone, girl, i was sleeping 😭

<taglist>

@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @highandalive @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @nivabiva @s1lly-bon @whimsybloom @yeonette @forgottensniper

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

It started with a rejection.

It was not the quiet, apologetic kind. It wasn't even a vague, gentle letdown.

You had barely even finished the words "I like you" before Tsukishima Kei, obviously unmoved, muttered a flat, "No thanks. I'm not interested."

You blinked at him under the afternoon sun, heard thudding in your ears, too stunned to process the way he turned and walked away. No sugarcoating. It was just typical Tsukishima. Just cold, brutal honesty.

And yet—somehow—you didn't give up.

You first met Tsukishima Kei through Yachi Hitoka.

You were from a different class, but the two of you were friends since you both live in the same apartment building.

Yachi had dragged you to Karasuno's volleyball practice one afternoon, pleading with you to help her carry some boxes of water and first aid supplies. She was the newly recruited manager. You had no real reason to go—you weren’t particularly into volleyball—but you owed Yachi a favor.

And that's where you saw him.

Tall, aloof, and sharp-tongued, Tsukishima wasn't exactly what you'd call approachable. But something about him fascinated you. Maybe it was the quiet fire behind his eyes, or how he seemed to carry the weight of ambition without ever admitting he cared.

You didn't know what possessed you to like him.

Maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed in concentration or how he always looked vaguely annoyed with the world, yet never missed a block. Maybe it was how he ignored the chaos around him, but occasionally paused to push his glasses up in a way that made your chest flutter.

Whatever it was, it rooted itself in your chest.

You started attending their practice more frequently, using Yachi as an excuse most of the time. You were okay with helping her and you would immediately accept her to help her. At this point, you were the third "unofficial" manager of the team. Kiyoko even offered you the position, which you gently let down.

You started small. A bottle of energy drink with a post-it: "Good luck!" (Yachi delivered it, of course). You've also made him a neatly wrapped onigiri for one of their practice match. A chocolate bar with a tiny sticker that said "For #11." Yachi was happy to always give them though.

A few weeks later you confessed.

He didn't even blink. "No thanks, I'm not interested."

It stung.

You should've stopped.

But you didn't.

"It's okay!" You smiled. "I'll still cheer for you."

Tsukishima scoffs, before walking away.

You did keep your promise. When it was the final match of the Miyagi Prefectural Spring Qualifiers, you were there, cheering him on. You were seated with Yachi by the spectators. Tsukishima would glance in your direction from time to time and every time he would scoff afterwards.

"Tsukki's spikes are on point today."

"I've also noticed that." You agreed with Yachi. "Maybe because this is the finals. Once they win, they'll go to Tokyo."

Your conversation with Yachi was cut off when the referee whistled for a substitution. Kiyoko was running out of the court with Tsukishima who looked like he was in pain while holding his other hand. You could see there was a bit of blood dripping from his pinky.

This made you worried, but there was nothing you could do and you couldn't go to the infirmary since you were not a manager to begin with. Yachi reassures you though that he would be alright.

Tsukishima returned to the game but his hand was now in bandages, which made you sigh in relief. After the match, you and Yachi went down to meet with the rest of the team to congratulate them. You caught Tsukishima who was headed to the changing rooms. His hand was unbandaged now, the makeshift tape coming loose.

"Wait, Kei." You called out softly.

He turned with a tired glance. You lifted up the small kit.

"Let me help. Your pinky—it's not taped properly."

He frowned, obviously reluctant, but after a beat, he sighed and nodded. "Fine. Just be quick."

You sat with him just outside the infirmary, the crowd still buzzing in the background. With practiced gentleness, you cleaned the small scrape and began wrapping his finger again.

"You're not a medic," he muttered, watching your careful work.

"No, but I've had practice with sprains. And you're not exactly gentle with yourself."

He huffed but didn’t pull away. You worked in silence, brushing your fingers lightly over his.

"You didn’t have to do this."

"I wanted to. You were amazing tonight."

He looked at you then—really looked. But whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

You tied the final bit of tape. "There. Try not to break more fingers next time."

He clicked his tongue but said nothing as you stood and offered a faint smile before walking away to look for Yachi.

You didn't go to see their matches in Tokyo, though you could, but you didn't since you just couldn't skip classes. Yachi was forcing and pleading you to go with them, but you told her that you couldn't really skip classes and she muttered under her breath, "Tsukki's gonna be in a foul mood if you don't come."

"What?"

"Nothing." She said, pouting.

You handed Yachi an omamori and smiled, "Give this to Kei and tell him good luck."

Yachi gave you a teasing look before safely putting the good luck charm inside her bag. "Don't you want to give up?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

"Well, who am I to even stop you in the first place?"

Yachi delivered your apology and good lucks to the team, along with the good luck charm for Tsukishima. Yachi gave Tsukishima a teasing smile before going up to Kiyoko.

Back at practice in Tokyo, Hinata pouted, "It's weird not having her around, isn't it?"

Yamaguchi grinned. "Tsukki's been extra grumpy. Coincidence?"

"I am not," Tsukishima snapped, shooting them a glare.

Yachi giggled nervously. "You do seem… quieter than usual."

He shoved his glasses up. "Don't be ridiculous."

But he didn’t deny it.

When second year rolled around, your feelings didn't fade. If anything, they deepened. You still showed up to every game and practice match and even made special chocolate for Valentine's (you also made for the rest of the team since you'd gotten close to them at this point). Sometimes, even protein bars or sports drinks after practice which were, of course, delivered by Yachi.

Your persistence had become a running joke among the team.

Yamaguchi once asked you with a laugh, "Are you planning on confessing again today, or are you giving him a snack break first?"

You just grinned. "Depends on his mood."

But underneath the teasing was a fondness—a recognition of how constant you were.

"He pretends he doesn’t care," Yachi whispered during lunch, poking at her food, "but I saw him keep the wrapper from the chocolate you gave him."

You paused. "Really?"

She nodded quickly. "He doesn’t throw your stuff out anymore. I think that’s progress."

You had no illusions. Tsukishima wasn’t the type to fall headfirst into anything, let alone a high school crush. He was cold, calculating, and painfully aware of how others perceived him. But still, you kept showing up. And something began to shift.

You noticed it in little things.

He’d stop walking away so quickly when you talked to him.

He’d take the snacks directly from your hand instead of through Yachi.

He’d grumble, "Tch, unnecessary," but still pocket the sweets.

And when a third-year on the basketball team tried to flirt with you behind the gym one day, Tsukishima appeared like a shadow.

"She’s busy," he said, stepping in just slightly in front of you.

"Didn’t think you cared, Tsukishima."

"I don’t. But she has bad taste, so someone has to keep her alive."

You were too stunned to respond.

But later that day, you gave him a lemon soda. He didn’t say thank you, but he drank it in front of you this time.

Another incident where you were helping out Yamaguchi and Yachi pin posters for sponsorship for the spring tournament, Yamaguchi said something that also stuck with you.

"He gets grumpy when you’re not at games," Yamaguchi said casually one afternoon while you were helping Yachi pin posters for the spring tournament.

You paused. "What?"

He grinned, too knowing. "He’ll never admit it. But if you’re not there cheering… his blocks aren’t as sharp. His mood dips. I think he’s gotten used to you."

Your heart fluttered at the idea. But then you remembered the way Kei would scoff every time you got too close. You knew better than to get your hopes up.

Still—you showed up. You always did.

Your second confession came during the school festival.

The night air was cool against your skin, carrying the faint scent of grilled food and melted candy. The laughter and chatter of your classmates echoed in the distance, muffled by the steady beat of your heart as you walked toward the back of the school building.

Fireworks lit up the sky above, loud and brilliant—explosions of crimson, blue, and gold that danced across the clouds and cast flickering shadows against the rooftop. The world felt briefly suspended in light.

And there he was.

Tsukishima Kei stood near the railing, just out of view from the main festivities, bathed in the soft glow of firework shimmer. His arms were loosely crossed, posture relaxed but solitary, as if the weight of the night pressed too closely in crowded spaces.

You hesitated at first, your fingers tightening around the hem of your sleeves. But you took a step forward anyway.

"Tsukishima," you called out, gently.

He didn’t look surprised.

His eyes flicked toward you, half-lidded, unbothered. The familiar indifference was there in the slight tilt of his chin, the unimpressed slant of his brow.

"Let me guess," he drawled, his voice a little more subdued than usual, "another confession?"

You smiled, small. Not embarrassed, not hopeful. Just honest.

"Yeah."

A beat of silence followed. He didn’t scoff this time. Didn’t shake his head or turn away. He just… looked up. Toward the sky. Toward the bursts of light painting the clouds.

"You’re wasting your time," he said at last, tone flat, like he was stating a fact more than trying to hurt you.

You nodded slowly, the corners of your lips dipping in acceptance. “Probably. But I still like you.”

Another silence stretched between you. But it wasn’t heavy.

It felt like the space after a long breath. Like neither of you needed to say anything else to fill it.

Kei didn’t walk away this time.

He stayed there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes on the horizon as the last few fireworks painted gold into his blond hair and soft shadows under his eyes.

He didn’t say thank you. Or I’m sorry. Or don’t.

But he didn’t push you away either.

His shoulders had relaxed slightly. The usual edge in his stance—the one that screamed Don’t get close—had dulled. And though he didn’t look at you, he didn’t seem to mind your presence.

So you stood beside him, close enough to hear the way his breath caught with each firework burst.

The world was quiet in that little space you shared. No declarations. No grand romantic gestures. Just the sound of distant music, the echo of fireworks, and the stubborn truth you carried in your chest.

You took his silence as progress.

Because sometimes staying said more than any rejection ever could.

By third year, something between you had changed.

You weren’t just a background character in his day anymore. You were there—persistent, present, and impossible to ignore.

You weren’t loud about it. Never demanding, never clingy. But your presence threaded itself into his routine like a habit he didn’t remember forming.

You learned the rhythms of his life: when he had exams and needed space to study, when his knees hurt after long practices and he walked with just the slightest wince. You started carrying an extra pain patch in your bag without saying why. You knew when he wanted silence—those days when the weight of everything made him sharper-tongued than usual—and when he needed a distraction, even if he never asked for one.

He learned things, too. Things you hadn’t meant for him to notice.

That you liked melon bread more than any other snack, even though you pretended not to be picky. That you always hummed softly under your breath when you were nervous—little melodies that stopped just short of forming actual songs. That your smile was always a little brighter, a little fuller, whenever you handed him something: a drink, a small note, chocolates during Valentine’s—even when you knew he wouldn’t react the way you hoped.

He caught himself watching you more often than he liked to admit.

Once, during a water break at practice, you were talking to Yachi near the gym doors. Your laughter filtered in easily, soft and light. Tsukishima glanced your way—just a glance—and lingered too long.

Yamaguchi caught him.

“You like her, don’t you?” Tadashi asked later, a little too casually.

“Shut up,” Kei muttered, not looking up from the sports drink he was pretending to be way too interested in.

Tadashi grinned. “You literally growled at that guy from Nekoma for asking her where she bought her jacket.”

“He was being weird.”

“Jealousy looks weird on you, Kei.”

“I will end you.”

But even that was different. Because he didn’t deny it.

And maybe that meant something.

Still, it wasn’t all teasing and harmless glances. There were moments where something heavier settled between you—where Kei seemed at war with himself, tugged between pride and something softer he didn’t quite know how to carry.

After a tough loss at a practice match—one that hit harder because it had been close—he sat outside the gym alone. The sky was already going gray, the air damp with oncoming rain. Everyone else had filed into the bus, too tired to say much.

You didn’t ask for permission. You just stepped off the bus, walked quietly over, and sat beside him.

You didn’t say anything. Just handed him a canned coffee—his favorite kind, the bitter one you personally thought tasted like disappointment—and let the silence breathe.

Ten minutes passed. Long and quiet and a little raw.

Finally, he spoke.

“You don’t have to keep trying.”

His voice was low. Tired. Defeated in a way you rarely saw from him.

“I’m not worth it.”

You turned to look at him, blinking slowly, your heart pulling tight.

“You don’t get to decide what’s worth it for me.”

His shoulders tensed, jaw clenching briefly. He didn’t look at you. But he didn’t move away either.

He didn’t say anything after that.

You stayed until he finished the coffee.

Then Nationals came by. You were determined to watch them after learning that they’d advance to the semifinals and were finally back at the center court. You were about to pull some strings, but good thing the vice principal was nice enough to let the students watch the volleyball team in Tokyo.

The Nationals were everything.

For Karasuno, it was the culmination of years of growth, grit, and stubborn perseverance. For you, it was watching him—the boy who once scoffed at your feelings—rise higher than anyone expected, one perfectly timed block at a time.

You cheered until your throat was raw. You clutched your chest with every rally. And when they secured third place, you stood in the stands, tears in your eyes and pride blooming so fiercely in your chest it almost hurt.

You were proud of all of them—of Kageyama’s precision, of Hinata’s impossible speed, of Yamaguchi’s quiet bravery—but mostly, you were proud of him.

Tsukishima Kei.

He had changed. Not loudly, not in some grand sweeping arc. But little by little, he had let himself care. You saw it in the way he threw himself into every play, in the way he smirked after a well-timed block, in the way he started calling his teammates by name.

But still, you didn’t confess that day. Not yet.

Because this time, you needed it to be real. Not a question, not a whim, not a gamble.

Late that night, when the stadium had emptied and the streets had quieted, you found him.

The gym was dim and nearly silent, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant clatter of janitorial carts somewhere down the hall. He stood near center court, his jersey still clinging to him with sweat and exhaustion. His head was tilted back, eyes tracing the ceiling as though he were still replaying the match in his mind.

You stopped in the doorway, watching him quietly for a moment.

“Karasuno did amazing,” you whispered, the words reverent. Like praise. Like prayer.

He didn’t look at you, but his voice came low. “Could’ve done better.”

You stepped closer, your footsteps echoing softly on the polished gym floor. “Tsukki…”

He turned, eyes meeting yours finally.

“…This is the last time.”

His brows drew together, faintly. He said nothing, but you could feel the tension in the air tighten, like the pause before a serve.

“I like you,” you said, voice shaking but certain. “I’ve liked you for three years. But this is the last time I’ll say it. If you reject me now, I’ll stop.”

The silence stretched, taut as a string pulled too tight.

Then he sighed. Looked away.

“You’re so stupid,” he muttered, the words quiet but harsh. “Wasting your time on someone like me.”

You bit your lip, but still smiled through the sting. “Probably.”

Something shifted. His shoulders, usually squared and defensive, lowered a fraction. And then—he stepped closer.

“You never left,” he said, softer now. “Even when I was an ass. Even when I pretended not to care.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t looking at you directly, but his hands were fidgeting at his sides, clenching and unclenching like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I noticed,” he admitted. “Everything. The snacks. The cheering. The stupid little notes you kept sneaking into my locker. I noticed all of it.”

His voice cracked slightly, like the admission cost him something.

“I just… I didn’t know how to deal with someone who actually gave a damn.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

Then his hand lifted—hesitant, trembling just barely—and his fingers brushed against your cheek. Awkward. Gentle. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, relief bubbling up in your chest like the end of a long, aching winter. “Took you long enough.”

And finally—finally—he leaned in.

You met him halfway.

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was hesitant and slightly off-center, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers where they now cupped your jaw. But it was soft and real and so full of everything unsaid over three long years. Years of cold shoulders, soft glances, unnoticed favors, and a hundred quiet hopes.

When you pulled away, breath mingling, your forehead rested against his, and for a moment, everything was still.

And then—

“Tsukki kissed her!!”

Hinata’s voice echoed across the gym like a fire alarm.

You both froze.

Tsukishima turned slowly, murder in his eyes.

Yachi stumbled into view, wide-eyed with panic. “We weren’t spying!”

“You were literally hiding behind the curtain,” you deadpanned, not even bothering to sound surprised.

“I tried to stop them!” Yachi insisted, flapping her arms like a terrified bird. “They dragged me into it!”

Yamaguchi emerged next, dragging a snickering Hinata by the collar while Kageyama followed, red-faced and visibly trying not to make eye contact.

“I swear to god,” Tsukishima muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I will kill all of you.”

“Totally worth it,” Hinata whispered loudly to Yamaguchi, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Told you she’d get you eventually,” Yamaguchi added, clearly far too smug for his own good.

You glanced at Tsukishima. He was glaring, his cheeks faintly pink, jaw clenched like he was weighing the pros and cons of turning around and walking into traffic.

But his hand was still resting lightly against your back.

So maybe, you thought, as you looked at him—just maybe—he didn’t mind being caught after all.

Graduation day arrived too soon.

The campus buzzed with a bittersweet energy—laughter ringing out over caps and gowns, tearful hugs exchanged in hallways, and the steady click of camera shutters capturing fleeting moments. You held your diploma in one hand and your future in the other, but your eyes searched for him.

And there he was.

Standing beneath the arching cherry blossoms, hands in his pockets, tassel swinging lazily from his cap. The same spot where you’d confessed to him just a year ago. The same courtyard where everything had changed.

You walked over, heels crunching lightly on fallen petals, nerves fluttering even now—because even after everything, this still felt surreal.

“Still not tired of me?” you asked, voice light, teasing—just enough to cover the emotion behind it.

Tsukishima glanced your way, and for a moment, the world hushed.

He rolled his eyes, but the edge that used to come with it was gone—softened into something warm, familiar. He was smiling now. That small, rare smile he saved just for you.

"Not even close," he murmured.

And then he leaned in, fingers brushing your jaw with quiet certainty, and kissed you. There was no hesitation this time. No guarded edges. Just the press of his lips against yours, firm and steady and full of promise.

Because you waited.

Because you stayed.

Because you never gave up on him—not even when he pushed you away, not even when he said nothing at all.

And against all odds, Tsukishima Kei had fallen in love.

With you.

And in that moment, with cherry blossoms drifting like confetti around you, you knew:

It had been worth every awkward silence.

Every rejection.

Every year of trying.

Because this—this—was everything.

Bonus scene.

Years passed.

The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood floors was replaced with roaring crowds, giant jumbotrons, and professional-level pressure. But some things hadn’t changed.

You still sat in the stands, heart in your throat, cheering louder than anyone else. You still kept your eyes on him—watching every block, every play, every subtle tilt of his head. The arenas were bigger now, the spotlight brighter. But to you, he was still Kei. Still the boy who used to hide behind sarcasm and side comments. Still the boy who kissed you under cherry blossoms.

That night, his team had clawed their way to victory in a five-set thriller. The final point had the crowd erupting. You stood in the stands, clapping until your hands stung, pride burning in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Afterward, you made your way to the side entrance—where the press couldn’t follow. You waited behind the barricades, bundled in your coat as the late winter air nipped at your cheeks. The cold settled in your bones, but you didn’t mind.

You always waited.

Eventually, he appeared. His warm-up jacket was unzipped halfway, hair still damp from a quick rinse, duffel bag slung casually over his shoulder. He looked tired—but content. The kind of tired that came from giving everything he had.

His eyes scanned the crowd, ignoring reporters and staff—until they landed on you.

And softened.

"You always wait," he said, stepping closer until he stood on the other side of the gate.

"And you always win," you replied, smiling despite the chill.

He chuckled—low, breathy. Real. He stepped past the barrier with ease, his hand catching yours before pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm, grounding, like coming home.

His chin rested atop your head, and for a while, neither of you said anything. Just the quiet thrum of distant cheers and the beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Then, softly, almost like a secret:

“Remember when you said you’d stop confessing if I rejected you again?”

You smiled into his chest. “Yeah. I meant it, too.”

A beat of silence. Then he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his gaze steady.

“I’m glad I didn’t.”

And then he kissed you—without restraint, without fear. It was deeper now. Certain. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions anymore—it just knew.

You kissed him back with every piece of your heart.

Because time had passed, but love had only deepened.

Because he had chosen you—again and again and again.

And somewhere deep in your soul, you understood:

This was still only the beginning.